Solona 15 - The Slaying of Archdemon
by Teency Hawk
Summary: When Zevran doesn't know that Grey Wardens die when they kill an archdemon. This is the aftermaths of the death of archdemon atop the Fort Drakon.
1. Atop Fort Drakon

His daggers flash in the firelight, and he twists, turns with maddening speed. Zevran was never much one for open combat - that goes against every training he's received with the Crows - but during the past year he spent traveling with the Wardens, he's adapted to it well.

His daggers rise and fall with rhythm, ending a life of miserable darkspawn with every slice, with every cut. Poisonous blood splatters across his armor, drips down the pommels, covers his gloves. Blood roars in his ears, blocking out all distractions. He is a whirlwind of daggers, cutting and killing, maelstrom of death. Knows nothing beyond the darkness he grants his targets.

And yet he is not doing this for the Crows, or even for himself. No, every death he brings to these miserable creatures are for _her_ , and it makes this hopeless battle bearable. There are too many – there's no end to darkspawn, but for _her_ , Zevran would gladly fight until his limbs are torn apart.

Zevran briefly looks to his Warden, casting spells after spells at the dreadful archdemon squatting down in the center of the Fort Drakon's roof. Zevran would protect her from harm – he would. Even if it's the last thing he does in this accursed lifetime.

The roar of battle engulfs him, and he loses himself in the familiar mindless battle rage that consumes him, burning away all thoughts, adrenaline licking through his blood. Zevran would kill – it is what he does best. And Solona Amell needs him to kill. So he kills with a happy heart in this madness.

A hurlock alpha nearly gets past his guard – the jagged sword whispers against his leather armor. Zevran twists, avoiding getting skewered - and with a turn, decapitates the ugly thing. But an ogre steps in its place. There is no end to darkspawn.

Zevran throws a desperate glance at Sten, wondering if the warrior would get him out of this particular tight spot – but no, Sten has troubles of his own. They're all in heaps of trouble – with no one to get them out. This time, no one would come to their aid. Resigned, Zevran screams his last battle cry, and hurtles towards the giant purple ugly horned monster. Using its towering body as the stepping stone, he jumps high up in the air.

The ogre just barely misses him, its huge hands grasping at thin air where he was moments before. He lets the gravity pull him down, his daggers poised for the weak spots in its neck. He screams through the entire descent. His blades sink deep into the monster, and it howls, body convulsing in death throes. Zevran twists his blades, hoping it would die quickly before it knocks him away. He sees the monstrous hand reaching for him, ready to crush him. Zevran knows that he's made his last kill. The ogre will take him to the beyond.

Golden light explodes somewhere next to him, and throws him clear off of the monster. He falls hard against the floor, and grunts as the breath is knocked out of him. But the explosion doesn't end – how is that possible? – the golden light grows and grows, blinding his sensitive eyes. The light is coming from where his Warden was.

Shielding his eyes, Zevran squints at the archdemon, and sees his Warden standing over a dead dragon. She stands tall, her hand gripping a huge sword stabbed into the head. Smiling, he stands up. His Warden's done it, ended the Blight. Against all odds, she's killed the archdemon.

But something's wrong. She's not moving right. She doesn't hoot and cheer in victory, nor does she run forward to embrace her friends. His step falters, as he squints harder in the light pouring out of the archdemon. She's… she's _convulsing._ His ears finally pick up the loud screeching noise pitched high and clear, ringing across the air. His Warden's scream.

Solona twists and shudders, her face contorted in pain. Zevran takes a step, and another. His limbs are numb, his hands cold. Her scream is continuous, grinding screech blistering against his nerves. His feet slowly carry him towards the core of the explosion. His armor burns in the scorching heat, his skin raw. But he doesn't care, he doesn't feel it. His entire world is narrowed down to the woman holding the sword buried deep in archdemon's head.

She falls, her fingers loosening around the hilt, her knees buckling. Her eyes roll up into her head, and her mouth is still open in a scream. His feet finally moves faster, and Zevran is running, running faster than he's ever run, toward his master, toward his Warden, toward his love.

"No! No, nonononono. No!" His denial tumbles out of his mouth, but he doesn't hear them. Why? She won! She killed the archdemon! She was victorious. Was this the reward she got for saving them all? Fucking hell! She didn't deserve this!

The golden light finally dissipates, and Zevran is by her side, desperate fingers grasping her body, holding her in his arms. He hugs her prone form tightly, blood smearing into her loose hair. He cries, long forgotten tears running freely down his face. His breath comes in short gasps, and his chest is constricted. Zevran can't get enough air down into his lungs. His heart feels icy, and there is an unknown force gripping it tight, and it's so painful, so painful. He's never hurt so badly in his life. He would rather be tortured again, than to sit here cradling her still body against his.

"My Warden. My dear Warden. No, this can't be true. This cannot be happening!" His strangled words barely get past his lips, salty wet as he weeps and weeps. Somewhere behind him, there's scuffling noise as her companions gathered around. They are silent with shock – nobody knows what to say. Except him. He says things on everyone's minds. The denial.

"Why? Did you know you would die?" Zevran screams, hurtling the words with enough force for them to reach her in the Beyond. "Did you know you would leave me?"

Her cold lips does not flutter, there's no musical voice answering his accusations. Zevran buries his head against the nape of her neck, and continues to cry. The dead are always silent.

"Zev…" fingers tug at his shoulder, and he hears Leliana's worried voice. But he can't move, he can't release her. He can't let her go. He weeps harder, for there's no shame in his grief.

They stay there for a long while, each of them crying in their own way, some silently, others howling.

Zevran feels light brushes of fingertips against his back, and he wishes Leliana would go away, to leave him alone with her. He wishes to weep and wail, away from the comforting touches of his friends, for there is no comfort to be had in a world without his Warden.

But the ghosting touch on his back grows to an insistent tapping, and to eventual pounding. With a snarl, Zevran lifts his head, to tell whoever it was to get lost, to leave him alone. His wet eyes glitter with malice, and he knows his friend does not deserve it, but Zevran doesn't care.

Except there is no friend pounding on his back. They're all crying in their own bubbles. Instead, he hears a loud gasp for breath in his arms, and then coughs.

"Zev… were you planning to choke me to death?" He hears the musical voice, thin and cracking, strained and hoarse. It is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.

His head turns to look down at the woman he was holding in his arms, and she's filthy. She's covered in darkspawn blood, sweat, and filth that Zevran can't even begin to guess. And she's the most exquisite thing he's ever seen, most alluring creature ever to grace this world. She's gasping for breath, and coughing. "Maker, Zevran, let me breathe." Her hands tap against his back.

Zevran just holds her tighter, and laughs, startling the grieving friends out of their misery. He laughs and cries, and then kisses his Warden warm on the lips. And this time, her lips flutter in response.


	2. Zevran's Nightmare

Zevran _burns_. His chest blazes – it heaves, clenches, grasping for air he desperately needs, but the cool soothing breeze remains just beyond his reach. There are flames licking at his throat, and his throat is parched. No, not just his throat – his mouth is arid. Every inch of his skin is aflame – his leather armor is blistering against his chapped skin in the searing heat.

Zevran's eyes aren't working right. Golden – white light fills his vision, blinding, sizzling. Its brilliant blaze turns the world flat – basks the world in its garish light of magic. But Zevran doesn't need his eyes to know what's happening. The waking horror he's witnessed is already etched deep into his memory, into his essence. Zevran blindly sees his Warden's body writhing, twisting into knots. His sightless eyes watches as her graceful body contorting into grotesque heap on the stone floor, soaked crimson with blood.

His lungs squeeze out the last of the air remaining inside him, thrusting it out in a bloodcurdling scream as his Warden's body twitches in the death throes he's seen too often in his life. It burns, it burns, it _burns!_

Zevran's eyes fly open, and his fingers are clawing at his throat, his nails leaving deep gashes in his skin. His body is drenched with cold sweat - his light cotton shirt clings to his body too tightly. But he can't see. He still can't see. Zevran gasps, and this time there's cool air that rushes in, and it's not saturated with blood, screams, and magic. The air is clean. His heart is slamming, and he gulps and gulps the fresh air, washing out the scorching burn still simmering within. But he still can't see.

Zevran whimpers – he can't help it. The pathetic noise has already slipped past his trembling lips before he even realizes he's made sound. He throws his hand over his mouth to stop it, already knowing it's too late.

And his hand is wet. Zevran finally understands why he can't see. His tears are streaming down his face, a constant flow of shameful weakness. He rubs and rubs, but broken sobs shake his entire body, and he knows it's a losing battle. He throws his arm over his eyes, blocking out the cold, unfeeling world, and his other hand bunches up the sheets in his fist. He trembles silently, his fists turning white, nails digging into his palm. But sobs and wails break past his lips, and Zevran bites down hard, drawing blood. But the tears blurring his visions won't stop, it just won't stop. The shameful tears never dries up.

He's crying too hard to notice when she softly pads into the room, carrying a jar of icy water. He doesn't notice her, not until she lays her small, callused hands over his fists. He starts violently, his teary eyes barely seeing her fuzzy outline. But she's there, and she's gently prying his fingers away, unclenching his fists. And she's real, and she's not… she's not _convulsing_ , like she was before, and she's whole, not broken.

Zevran throws himself into her arms, weeping like a small child. He's afraid, so afraid that she'll disappear, that she'll go to the Beyond, leaving him alone in this world. But she holds him tight, lets him cling to her with all his might. He hopes he's not hurting her with his strength, she's so slender it worries him, but Zevran can't control himself, and she doesn't complain. She just draws him closer, hugging him as tight as he hugged her that day, when her lips fluttered in response after the archdemon died. He wonders how she carries such strength in her slim body, but she holds him tight, keeps him from shattering. He softly cries and moans into the nape of her neck, and he is no longer ashamed of the tears falling.

She's whispering things to him, he realizes. Her soft lips are ghosting over his tousled hair, and her musical voice is winding around him. He strains to listen, to hear her words above the gasps and pants breaking out of his body. She tells him she's sorry, for causing so much pain. She says she's so sorry, and that this time, it was only a dream. She tells him she's real, and he doesn't need to worry because she is in no hurry to leave behind her sexy scoundrel of an elf.

He chokes out a broken laugh – Zevran can't help it. And it's better than the body heaving sobs he's been letting out so far. His desperate clutches gradually loses their urgency, and relaxes. His arms are no longer crushing her, but holding her gently, how she deserves to be held. For she is a precious gem, to be handled with care. He lifts his head to look into her dark eyes, wanting to see her. To see her clearly. He feels a pang of regret as his eyes trace the slight bruises forming on her skin, but she waves them off. She says it's nothing worse than bruises she gets when she makes love to him.

She smiles her brilliant smile, genuine and true, and kisses him on the mouth, then on the tip of his nose. She laughs merrily as he rubs his face on her, and traces more light kisses from his cheeks to tips of his ears, lightning fast. He can't help but chuckle, her warm breath tickling his skin. Then, she reaches out and gives him the jug full of icy water. You were burning up, she says, and makes him drink slowly to cool down. He obeys her ministrations, allowing her to slowly tip his head back, gulping down the chilled water gratefully. His body no longer burns, no scorching heat blazing inside him. When he's done, she sets the jug down, and once again holds him tightly. But this time they're holding each other in embrace, and they're lying down comfortably. And together, they drift off into sleep, mingling together in the Fade. And this time, Zevran doesn't burn.


End file.
